by Lana Grayson
Or maybe I couldn’t keep it in anymore.
Hell if I knew.
I took another shot. Black out drunk wasn’t good enough. I’d poison myself. Speak the truth once and then burn away the brain cells that made the memories replay in my mind.
Martini tried her drink again. She’d order something stronger when she realized how lucky she was to be sitting on a barstool and not grinding my cock.
“I’m supposed to be dead.” I talked into the shot glass. It was easier than looking at the beautiful woman with tear-stained cheeks who flinched at the anger in my voice. “I should be dead.”
“Because you betrayed Anathema?”
She spoke it so easily, like tearing my club apart was the same as missing Church or knocking a prospect out cold.
“No,” I said. “Because I betrayed Rose.”
That shut her up. The glass clinked onto the bar. The bartender slipped into the hotel, and the other patrons in the corner were more preoccupied with their phones than us.
Revealing the truth in a dingy bar three thousand miles from home wasn’t any better than Rose confessing to us, scared and huddled in the basement of a strip club while The Coup torched the building. It didn’t matter where we said it. The words should never have been spoken aloud.
It should never have happened to her.
“My father molested Rose when she was a child.”
Martini’s gaze snapped up. “What?”
“He sold pictures of her when she was young. He used to beat on her. Abuse her.”
She hadn’t expected that. No one would have thought it.
“Brew—”
“He raped her when she was a teenager. More than once, until he was thrown in jail for murder.”
Martini paled. She reached for her drink but stopped to cover her mouth instead.
“Jesus, Brew. I’m so sorry.”
“I didn’t know.”
It sounded pathetic. Like it was an excuse or a reason for it to happen. That only made me angrier.
Sadder.
“I had no fucking idea it happened,” I said again. Harder now. Like it would matter. “Rose was terrified of my father. But she never said anything to me. I…didn’t know.”
“Of course you didn’t.” Martini’s bag dropped to the floor. She took my hand without hesitation. “Brew, you never would have let anything happen to her if you knew.”
Like hell. “But I knew something was wrong. She was quiet and scared and she despised everything about Anathema.” I poured another shot. It went untasted. “It was never about the club though. She hated him. She wanted to get away from Blade. She just…couldn’t. My brother and I forbid her to leave the city. She blamed me for being trapped. She says she doesn’t, but I know the truth.”
Martini spoke too softly for the torment I deserved. “That’s not fair. You said it—you didn’t know.”
“Because I wasn’t watching. I didn’t think. I didn’t want to think.”
My hand trembled. I needed another drink, but the bottle wouldn’t steady in my hands. Martini took it from me and served the whiskey. I didn’t throw it back.
“I’m just like him.”
She frowned. “Like who?”
“My father.”
Martini sucked in a breath. “You aren’t. You’d never do something that horrible.”
“We treat women the same. Disposable. Something to toss around, fuck, and slap until they leave or we get bored.”
“No.” She shook her head. “That’s not you at all.”
“It’s true. I can feel it. I want the same things he did. That dominance over someone? The power. It gets me off, Darling.” I dared to meet her gaze. The silver shimmered, gentle. Too gentle for me. “I never forced a woman before, but I’m capable of it because of him. His blood is mine. It’s why Temple dealt with me, it’s why I won’t...”
“Won’t…?”
“Let myself hurt you.”
Her eyes widened. She flushed and turned to the bar. “You...wouldn’t have hurt me.”
“I don’t trust myself.”
Her smirk came and went. “I do. Did. Still probably do, but that’s my own shit to work through.”
“I can’t handle that temptation. I’ve already fucked up Rose’s life. I’m not going to risk destroying another.”
“Brew, you are nothing like your father. What he did was wrong and vile, but you’re worried about hurting me. That is something your father never would have thought about. You care, and so you’ll never be like him.”
“I’m not taking the chance.” I poured the last of the whiskey into my glass. “I’m going to kill him.”
Martini choked on her drink. “You’re what?”
“When Knight, the VP of The Coup, contacted me to make that deal with Temple, we knew it would only work because they trusted me as Blade’s son. But the deal went bad when Anathema outted me as a traitor. My president planned to kill me. Rose intervened. She thinks Thorne spared my life because she begged.” I snorted. “That’s not true.”
“Why then?”
“They pretend I’m dead because I’m the only one who can end it. Thorne can’t kill Blade. He’s part of Anathema, and the club would disintegrate with more bloodshed. But a ghost can’t cause a war.”
“Except Temple might realize you’re alive.” Martini’s whisper didn’t belong in such a dark conversation. She crossed her arms, shielding herself against the implication. “What happens then?”
“Nothing. I’ve been biding my time, waiting for my father to get out of jail. I can’t die yet. Not when I’m so close. Not when I can give Rose a life free of fear.”
She shrugged. “What about me?”
“I can’t risk them hurting you.”
“But you can’t do this alone.” Martini stilled, her eyes narrowing over the drinks. Her voice strengthened. “There’s more to all this. Temple and Kingdom and what Sacrilege was doing messing with men like them. Brew, there’s a reason Temple is here, and it isn’t you.”
“It doesn’t matter why they’re here.”
“It does to me,” she said. “We’ve gotta figure this out. Stay one step ahead of them. You can’t keep running until the jail sets him free. Not when there’s five headless bodies in a cottage and men searching every hotel from Philly to Pittsburgh for us. This is bigger than you, Brew. Bigger than Rose. But the only way you can stay alive to help her is if we deal with it.”
She sipped her drink, downing most of the contents with a wink. “And I’m going to help you.”
“Why would you help me?” The bastard in me still imagined what she hid under her clothes, the lovely curve of her hip and the raspberry pink tip of her nipples. I had a perfection I never deserved and destroyed a woman I had no right to touch.
“Because someone has to prove to you that you aren’t anything like your father,” she said. “And someone has to keep me safe when I refuse to get on that bus tomorrow morning. The man who bought that ticket is going to be mad, and I need someone to defend me.”
“Darling—”
“Save it.” She silenced me with a smile—genuine and beautiful and nothing I thought I’d ever see again. “You are not your father. You’ll keep me safe.”
“That’s a big mistake.”
“So I’ve heard.” She tipped her glass, watching the droplets of vodka swirl against the side. “I should probably confess something too.”
I snorted. “What could you possibly have to confess?”
Her expression twisted, the gentleness stole from her lips. She sucked in a breath, her eyes hardening. A moment passed before she decided against speaking about whatever hung over her head.
“I’m much more a fuzzy navel girl.”
I cut around the corner at a full sprint, pushing past the teenagers poking through a jewelry kiosk. My bags rustled behind me and slammed into the packages laying at their feet. Two pairs of boots, a makeup case, and half a dozen bottles of nail polish went flying.
I swore instead of apologizing. The teenagers squealed. I was pretty sure most of their purchases sailed over the second-story railing and onto the mall shoppers below, but I didn’t stop to check. I pitched my milkshake into a garbage bin and ducked inside a Field and Stream store to lose my tail.
One of these days, I wasn’t going to make such horrible decisions.
Like practically begging to stay with Brew instead of taking his offer and running home. He gave me the money, the gun, and the ticket. I might have hopped the bus and been halfway to somewhere warm and tropical, far from my bar and all the trouble it caused.
Staying on the road was more dangerous than facing Goliath.
That wouldn’t be a problem for much longer. We didn’t have many places left to hide.
The store wasn’t big. It also wasn’t populated, especially at this time of night. I aimed for the clothing section and ducked between the stands of flannel shirts and coveralls.
This so wasn’t my store.
It didn’t have any leather, it didn’t have any alcohol, and anything woodsy reminded me of the lake cottage I tried to forget.
My hand rattled over my phone. I typed a quick message without looking at the screen, staring only at the two bikers who chased after me. The older man with grey hair and a pistol tattooed on his cheek separated from his partner and searched in the fishing section for me. The other, a man about Brew’s age, stalked to the registers, glancing over the exit to the parking lot and the widened door leading into the mall. I snapped the picture of their insignia, sending the blurry text to Brew.
He responded immediately.
Kingdom
All the hours spent running from Temple, and we were caught by the men hunting for me. Their collateral. Their only way to find Brew and exact their revenge for a crime he didn’t commit.
It was a bad time to go shopping. My phone buzzed again.
Get out of there
Like the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. I squeezed between two clothing racks and eyed a precariously stacked display of fishing poles. Both bikers rushed between the aisles, searching for me in a quick jog that slammed their boots against the linoleum like the crack of a hammer against a skull.
East parking lot, by the theater
Brew was close, but not close enough. The men circled like wolves and, Christ, I didn’t want to be around when they attacked.
A stray shopping cart tucked near me. I took my chance and grabbed the buggy, wheeling it into the aisle and launching into the display of fishing poles. I didn’t stick around to watch the crash. I sprinted to the exit just as the chaos struck. The men swore and shouted, but the diversion worked. I avoided the main exit and hit an emergency door instead.
Every alarm in the store screamed as soon as it burst open. I spilled into the parking lot.
A hand seized me by my hair and pulled me to my feet.
I didn’t recognize the man, but the patch on his jacket matched the emblems my other stalkers. The bandana covering his head stained with old blood. A fresh bruising scraped his knuckles.
I shouted. His backhand was quicker than my cry. I coughed in surprise, but his grip tightened on my hair.
“We’ve been looking for you, little girl,” he said. “You’re a week late on your club’s payment, and I don’t think you’ll like how we collect the interest.”
Neither would he. I kicked quick, slamming my foot between his legs. He grunted, reflexively releasing my hair. I beat him with two of my bags, breaking the handles and losing my new pair of jeans and helmet.
The man stumbled, and it was enough of an escape. I bolted across the sidewalk, ducking into the rows of cars as he yelled for his two counterparts to chase me.
I burst toward the theater, diving between the traffic and families heading to the cinema. The rumble of a bike turned my stomach, but I recognized the rider. He sped to me, slowing only to let me leap on the back and wrap my arms and one remaining bag over his waist.
The bike peeled out and darted onto the road, cutting through the parking lot of two retirement communities, a Best Buy, and a Catholic church. We dumped out on a five-way intersection that clusterfucked traffic but let us escape into the potholed confusion of roads that were the suburbs south of Pittsburgh.
He crossed through a neighborhood of split-entry homes built in the fifties and hooked onto Route 51, swearing at me the whole way into the city.
“Jesus Christ, you had to get clothes.” He yelled over the wind. “You okay?”
My cheek hurt, but it was a familiar pain. I leaned closer to him, tightening my grip over his body and flushing when I realized I wanted to rest my head on him. I tucked the panic deep into my belly and nodded.
“Fine.”
He shifted, almost like he considered reaching for me. I didn’t move. Neither did he.
It had been that way for two days.
My grip over his waist was the closest he let me get to him and the most intimate I let myself be in his presence. We slept in separate beds, talked only if we had the buffer of alcohol between us, and avoided any mention of our fight, or the reason for our fight, or the burning frustration luring us both to thinking of how close we came to making an absolutely perfect mistake.
I wanted him. And I knew how dangerous that was. Brew was the bad boy I thought I needed, the strength I used to get off. His aggression didn’t seduce me as much as his power forced me to lust.
I had to drop that part of me. The only way I could be safe again was if I denied those desires. Even if it was normal or a deviancy or just some sort of thrill I got from putting myself at risk, it was time to face the truth. Brew was right.
It was my fault for getting into these situations.
So how the hell was I supposed to get out?
I held onto him as he sped through the city and over bridges. His body wound tight. His shoulder hurt him, but he said nothing, guiding the bike from the clutches of our enemies and to the safety of the hotel without even a grimace.
It was like he denied the pain’s hold over him. Now I understood why.
The guilt crushing his soul was more than any man should have endured. He did his jobs and earned his money and waited for the day he could restore his honor and redeem his sister. And he did it all in solitude.
But then he revealed himself to me, completely bared his heart with every painful consequence. He hated himself—not for his failure, but for a man he imagined he’d become.
His rejection wasn’t meant to shame me. He meant it to protect me.
Even if it was to protect him from himself.
It was painful. The secrets we kept and the lies we whispered rendered us raw and exhausted. I felt exposed, like the honesty after sex, but we denied each other its pleasure.
I never thought I had any pride until he stole it from me. What few fragments remained were too wounded to offer again. He didn’t hurt me. I did it all to myself, again and again, looking for a reason to crave that hand over my neck, slap to my ass, and ferocious mounting that once made me feel trapped and alive.
I wouldn’t feel that way now.
At least, I didn’t think I would.
I doubted we’d stay at the hotel much longer. Two days was too many, especially with Kingdom suddenly closer than ever. I had no idea where we’d go. It really didn’t matter. We lived in frustration late at night while we both stared at the ceiling. I couldn’t even look in his eyes, but I didn’t leave. Not with Goliath searching for me. Not with Kingdom lurking. Not with Red’s constant texting begging me to pull a trigger and destroy a part of me I’d never reclaim.
I trusted Brew. He didn’t want me to put any faith in him. But I was right. No safer place existed than on his bike. He wouldn’t let anything happen to me. I was his second chance.
As long as I had him believing that, he’d keep me alive.
The hotel’s parking lot was dark, but Brew hid the bike away from street lights and the prying eyes of the ground floor windo
ws. I hopped off. He saw the mark on my cheek before I could duck. But why try to hide it? It wouldn’t do any good. Instead I pawed through the bag that survived the chase and swore. The lackey panties in the Victoria Secret packaging peeked at me.
“I guess I’ll only be wearing underwear for a few days.”
Both of us liked the implication, but we dreaded the images my stupid flirting conjured. It was hard enough sharing a room, even if it was safer that way. Brew kept me where he could watch me.
Close enough to touch.
Close enough to take back to bed and untangle the twisting heat driving us insane.
“I’ll get you more clothes,” he promised.
I nodded. “Sorry. I didn’t think Kingdom would be hanging around the mall.”
“Someone saw us.”
“Guess so.”
“I can’t keep putting you in danger.”
I had a pounding headache, too exhausted to flirt. But I had to. I couldn’t let him change his mind.
“You’re the one getting me out of it,” I said. “Probably the only one.”
He didn’t like that. He pulled on my arm, his fingers burning through my jacket and knifing my skin with every memory of our broken embrace. I followed him into the hotel lobby, casting one last glance over the still parking lot and the darkness that didn’t conceal our location nearly as well as I hoped. We took the elevator.
Mistake.
The air thickened as Brew finally looked me over in decent lighting. The elevator’s mirrored walls didn’t spare me any sympathy. The backhand left a darkening bruise against my cheek. Brew bristled. The rage trembled his hands.
“It’s fine,” I said.
“It’s not fine.” His repentant tone was shadowed by a growl of hatred. “They hit you.”
“I got away.”
“Never should have happened.” He stepped toward me. I tried to avoid him, but the elevator trapped me in the tight corner.
I glanced down. Instinctual, one that usually prevented black eyes. I shifted as he reached for my chin. If he saw my flinch, he ignored it. His fingers brushed my jaw. He studied the bruise, letting the pad of his thumb rub over the ugly welt. The touch hurt, but I didn’t protest.